A Cowboy for Keeps

A Cowboy For Keeps By J.D. Walker “See you next month, Slim,” Fred Jenkins said with a smile as he handed over the receipt for my purchases. He was the owner of the only supply store for forty miles. “Bye now,” I replied as I walked out the door. The warm summer sun was low in the sky, spreading pretty colors all over as twilight slowly took hold of the heavens. It was something I loved, almost as much as the mountains around me. I ambled along, admiring the view above me, when suddenly I tripped over something on the sidewalk which nearly made me drop the feed bags off my shoulders. I could almost hear the voice of my dearly departed mother saying, “Boy, your head’s always in the clouds.” God, I missed her. When I got my balance back, I turned around to see what had caused me to stumble. A pair of long, lean, and dusty jeans-clad legs were in the middle of the pavement. The legs belonged to a very shabby-looking man who sat on the ground, slumped against the dirty wall near the boarded up store to his left. His dusty black cowboy hat was pulled down low over his face, but I could make out a strong, firm jaw line with many days’ worth of beard growth on it. A ragged old backpack was on the ground beside him. Concerned, I walked toward him and put my bags down nearby. “Hey there, cowboy.” A weak groan was the only response. Alarm bells went off in my head. Pushing my brown hat up on my forehead, I stooped next to the man and reached a hand out to touch him, but he jerked away, a small cry of pain escaping him. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, backing off a little. The man slowly pushed his hat up, wincing as he did so. Tired brown eyes looked up at me and my heart stopped. The man before me was even prettier than the sunset on the horizon. And that was saying something. He was bruised something awful, though. I dragged my eyes away from his defeated gaze—and black eye turning purple—to inspect the arms at his sides. Black and blue all over, it seemed. His hands looked like he’d been in a fight, and scrapes covered what I could see of his knuckles. Guess he gave as good as he got, whatever the tussle had been about, if that was the reason for his present condition. Good for him, but…Jesus. “What happened, man?” The stranger removed his hat, and I saw a full head of dark brown hair, the strands sweaty and a mess. I made a snap decision. “Scratch that. I don’t care. You need to get cleaned up, and a place to rest for a while, I’m thinking.” And some tender loving from yours truly. I looked him dead in the eye. “You ever kill anybody?” Startled, the man slowly shook his head. “Steal anything?” In the fading light, I saw a blush steal up his cheeks. He slowly nodded. “Was it because you were desperate?” Nod. “Got any family?” Shake. “Were you roughed up here in town?” Shake. “On the way here?” Nod. “Mind being around gay cowboys?” I thought I’d make it clear right off the bat what he’d be getting into, if he came with me. Shake. The blush came back again in full force. All righty then. “Okay. I own a ranch some miles down the road. Nothing fancy, just a few horses and cows, and a sizeable garden for fresh vegetables. Not really in it for the money, since I already have a job as a consultant online. I just love the land, and the scenery. Got a couple guys working for me who live there, too. Got a big enough house for ten people. It’s a safe place, and we don’t mind company. We’re real friendly and laid back. You interested?” The tired stranger gave me a look that said, “This is too good to be true.” I felt sympathy for the man, and something else, too, which I didn’t want to delve into—not yet, anyway. After a minute or two, he nodded. I stood up and stepped back to give him room to get up off the ground. It was painful to watch him move because he was obviously hurting. I wanted to leave his pride intact, so I let him do it on his own. Finally, after bracing himself against the wall, the man stood, the old backpack in one hand, and his hat in the other. We were the same height, which had me thinking all kinds of wicked things which he wasn’t in any shape to handle, even if he were interested. He put his hat back on and waited for my next move. I picked up the bags of feed and led the way to Lodi, my faithful pickup truck. I put the sacks in the back and unlocked the doors so my soon-to-be guest could get in. Once buckled up, I started the truck and headed down the road for the long trip back home. * * * * Five minutes into our journey, I asked, “You got a name?” I was curious as to what he would sound like. He cleared his throat. “Daniel Tiberius Crane.” Oh now, that voice was something else, pulling at me down low in my belly. Though hesitant and scratchy, its timber was soothing to my ears. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? Slim Montagne, at your service.” He gave me a slight nod, and that was all we said for the rest of the trip.